


Threat Assessment

by keerawa



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Book 1: Shards of Honor, Gen, Missing Scene, Yuletide 2015, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-07 01:42:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5438837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keerawa/pseuds/keerawa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the Escobaran invasion, an honorable man spirals toward self-destruction while a not-so-honorable one conspires to save him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Threat Assessment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hellscabanaboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellscabanaboy/gifts).



> Thanks to [Gryphonrhi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Gryphonrhi/pseuds/Gryphonrhi) for the beta and to my recipient for a fantastic prompt. I'm all about the Space Feudalism, too! This can be read as pure gen, but I think you, dear hellscabanboy, might enjoy some pre-romance goggles.

It was four months since we'd returned from Escobar, not as conquering heroes, but proud survivors.  Or so the Emperor had declared.  After the 'riots' that razed the Ministry of Political Education, any inclined to differ had kept a wise silence.

The funerals had stretched on for weeks as thousands of our military, Vor and prole alike, were mourned in traditional ceremonies.  Some had been members of the War Party; others died following their duty. So many men sacrificed to the needs of the state. 

I understood the political situation and the threat the War Party had posed.  I was one of the handful of analysts who had provided the ten-year projection of the consequences should Prince Serg and Minister Grishnov take power.  Still, I didn't approve of Escobar.  It was dangerous, overly dramatic, and wasteful.  Not that anyone had asked me.  Not that anyone ever would, or that I could answer them if they did, bound by oath to silence. 

At least I knew that the weight of those deaths wasn't on my shoulders. The responsibility properly belonged to the Emperor and Captain Negri, but somehow Vorkosigan had taken the burden on himself. 

Admiral Vorkosigan had delivered an unprecedented 118 personal eulogies for selected members of the fleet who were lost in the Escobaran invasion.  He was pale and drawn by the end, dark circles under his eyes proclaiming his grief to the world, his hair a hacked mess from far too many death offerings.

I'd thought the worst was over.  I was wrong.

The award ceremony had followed shortly thereafter, with pomp and circumstance that rivaled Prince Serg's state funeral. The Emperor had pinned a medal to Vorkosigan's chest and proclaimed him a hero for the brilliantly planned and flawlessly executed retreat that had saved most of the Barrayaran Fleet.

I once watched for two hours, helpless, as an informant died in agony from an untreated gut wound.  It's one of my most vivid pre-chip memories.  That man had looked better than Vorkosigan did on the stage during the ceremony.  The chip had shown me Aral Vorkosigan's face in that moment 713 – now 714 – times since then, the memory prompted by any discussion of the consequences of the Escobaran invasion.  He was, after all, the crowning sacrifice of that desperate scheme to save Barrayar.  I was literally incapable of forgetting that fact.

Aral had quietly resigned his commission and retired to Vorkosigan Surleau.  The rumor in the capitol was that he was considering a political career.

I knew better.  I'd requested regular status updates on Lord Vorkosigan, and Captain Negri had allowed it.  Aral was steadily drinking himself to death, if he didn't manage death by light-flyer first.  I had been the man's shadow for months, the most harrowing and uplifting months of my life.  I couldn't help but feel that I should be there now, offering my service, even if there was nothing I could do but watch as the greatest man I ever met self-destructed.

If Cordelia were there, she could – the damned chip bombarded me with a flurry of images of her preceded, as always, by my first memory of Captain Naismith.  I heard her cautious, 'There's been an accident,' and stepped into Vorrutyer's quarters to find him butchered on the floor with Cordelia standing over him, dressed in black fatigues and drenched in his blood like some ancient warrior-goddess.

She's not there.  She's on Beta, being publicly lauded as a hero and failing to return any of Aral's letters.  And at this point, there seems to be nothing I can do about it.

I'd spent the day acting as Negri's representative in a meeting with the Komarran Intelligence group and was on my way out of the Imp Sec building when a deep voice called my name.

"Lieutenant Illyan!"

I turned to see General Count Piotr Vorkosigan waiting for me in the lobby. He wore his house colors with a few military touches – a simple rank insignia, boots, and a sword.  The horse boots and saber that looked so ridiculous on younger officers were clean but battle-worn.  Any competent observer could tell that the boots had seen the sides of many a horse, and the saber the blood of more than one Cetaganadan soldier.  They declared that he had been leading men into battle long before I was born.

"I'd like a word," the count said.

"Certainly," I said, mind racing.  "My office is up on the –"

"No need, this won't take long."  The count gestured me into the security office adjacent to the lobby.  "Give us the room," he ordered.  A dozen low-ranked guards and technicians locked their terminals and scurried out of the office, closing the door behind them.

"Have a seat," he said, completing the blatant display of power.

I fell into a relaxed parade rest.  "No need, sir.  I understand this won't take long."

The count inspected me.  "Hmm.  Ezar's watchdog, soon to be Negri's second in command.  Quite the promotion," he commented.

I nodded warily.

"Assuming the promotion is confirmed, of course.  What can you tell me about the Betan?"

"Which one, sir?" I temporized.  The general had a significant power base among both the counts and the military, making him one of the five most powerful men on Barrayar.  Negri had recommended my advancement, but I had no personal or family connections, no Vor in front of my name.  If Count Vorkosigan wanted to block my promotion, it wouldn't be difficult.  The threat was unimportant.  What mattered was what else he might do with that power, to save his son.

Count Vorkosigan's jaw clenched.  "The Betan frill who's wrecked my son," he said viciously.

"Captain Naismith?"

He glared. 

I didn't allow myself to blink when the chip barraged me with more images of her covered in Vorrutyer's blood, her and Aral, the moment she touched his face, the way they said good-bye.  Aral had wanted to marry her, had hoped for it, even in the horror of the Escobaran retreat and the revelation of the abuse of prisoners in the camps.  To reveal what I had seen between them would be a betrayal, as well as a violation of my Escobaran secrecy orders.  Which made this a dangerous opportunity, indeed.

Compliance was impossible, and yet I could not lie to him.  The security office we were in included full video and audio surveillance, obviously part of his reasoning for meeting with me here rather than in my office.   I could have told him that any surveillance of my person was considered redundant.   The Emperor would likely require a full, verbatim report of the meeting from my chip as soon as he heard that Count Vorkosigan had sought me out.

"My apologies, sir, but I am unable to comply with your request," I replied courteously.  "While assigned as then-Commodore Vorkosigan's observer, I had access to a wide range of classified material and personal confidences.  Both Captain Negri and Emperor Ezar have therefore ordered me to treat Lord Vorkosigan's privacy with a level of respect that can only be superseded by operational necessity."  I put the slightest emphasis on the words 'operational necessity'.  Remember, my hands are not between yours, old man.

"Operational necessity?  You're an intelligence officer, aren't you? So give me a god-damned threat assessment!" he roared.

"Of course, sir.  As a sitting count, you have the right to request a personal threat assessment at any time.  I can get a full report to you by the end of the week."  Intelligence analyses are inherently biased; facts chosen and presented to support a given theory and course of action.  If I could only have some time to consider -

"Now, Illyan," he barked out.

It was time for another private judgment. 

"Very well.  In brief, I rate her threat level as high."

"High?" he said skeptically.

"Yes, sir.  Captain Naismith is intelligent, resourceful, charismatic, and highly unpredictable.  The first time she was captured by Barrayaran forces -- including your son, who is widely regarded as one of our finest tactical minds -- she out-maneuvered him, disabled his ship, and escaped.  The second time, Admiral Vorrutyer underestimated her and it led to his death.  In short, she would make a useful ally and a dangerous enemy.  If that's all, sir, I've been on-duty for fourteen hours, and I would like to get home and get some sleep."

With a casual analyst's salute I turned and walked to the exit.

"Lieutenant," he called out as I opened the door.

"Yes, sir?"

"Given that evaluation, I think it would be sensible to gather more intelligence on Captain Naismith.  We need to find out if she's planning to come to Barrayar, and if not, see if Negri's agents might be able to offer some incentive. "

I glanced back and caught a flash of expression on Count Vorkosigan's face before it disappeared.

"I will pass your request on to Captain Negri first thing tomorrow morning.  Goodnight, sir."

"The boy always did have a knack for inspiring loyalty in his men," the count muttered as I left the room.

I nodded to the cluster of technicians and guards waiting anxiously outside the office and left the building.

As I walked home I called up the memory of that micro-expression and compared it to other, similar images.  Within a few minutes I was able to identify it as hope.  Good.  Count Vorkosigan could demand action far beyond my scope. 

Why lie when the truth can be so very effective?


End file.
